


An Offer (You can't Refuse)

by assholeachilleus



Series: Deaf!jon au [8]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Deaf!Jon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans!Martin, elias being his usual dickish self, fuck elias all my homies hate elias, theres actual plot here im shook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28426614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assholeachilleus/pseuds/assholeachilleus
Summary: Elias extends an offer to Martin about Jon. This is part of my deaf!jon au, but can be read alone.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Deaf!jon au [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072478
Comments: 26
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I feel like elias is worse in this bc we don't have ben's lovely voice to comfort us :( 
> 
> Just wanted to clear some stuff up, which I realise I never actually said and you guys can't see into my head jdkjfkjf. So as sasha is heavy archivist, things go a lot more smoothly, and basically they've already figured out about the 14 entities bc sasha is high iq. 
> 
> also, now we've covered the worms, we're all caught up timeline-wise to season 1, so everything after including this fic will be set season 2 and on. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Martin's hands trembled uncontrollably as he entered Elias' office. It wasn't that the man himself was particularly intimidating; he rivalled Martin in height, but his lanky frame stood rail thin, as though someone had started to stretch him as a child and never stopped. 

The sturdy wooden desk was a caricature of the good old days, the ancient typewriter on top with its faded keys and patches of dull copper shining through the black coating, looking positively archaic. In the corner was a small globe on metal legs, the sphere sliced in half by a thin line that alluded to secrets stored inside. 

Martin swallowed, his heart beating erratically and skittishly, a wild animal that was aching to be released. 

Elias sat down in his huge leather chair, immaculate compared to the other antique furniture dotted around, and gestured for Martin to do the same on the opposite side of the desk. 

"I suppose you are already aware of why I have called you into my office." Elias' voice was smooth and very sure, sounding like an echo of the past, something that belonged British pathe. 

Martin felt his chest clench, his blood singing in his ears, a drumbeat only he could hear, a song composed just for him. It was his cv, of course it was. He should never have lied in the first place. Did he really think a research institution wouldn't follow up with his claim? 

"I, um, I, I." Martin's voice staggered and stopped, a drunk leaning for support as the world swayed dangerously. Continuing when it felt composed once again. 

Elias cut him off, his permanently pinched expression giving the impression that he knew exactly what you were going to say and was predeterminedly annoyed. 

"I understand you have a close relationship with one Jonathan Sims, the librarian who came last month to give his statement?" Elias glanced down to a statement carefully placed on the leather patch of his desk, encased in the lines of gold that curved and snaked and wound themselves into intricate patterns. "Something about music and murder from the looks of it." 

Martin felt icy dread bracket his ribs, while his cheeks flushed and prickled with biting warmth, and cool relief curled around him all at once. 

"Oh, yes, Um, Jon. Yes, we, um, we're together…?" Martin squirmed in his uncomfortable chair, made more to impress than to be sat in for any period of time. 

Elias nodded, eyes cool and detached, watching with something akin to observed fascination. 

"I thought as much." Martin's eyes landed on the expensive black and silver pen, delicately placed on a glass ink well that caught the light and sent it skittering across the room in vibrant shades. 

Martin's heart was pushing against his ribs so hard he fought a grimace. 

"I mean, I, um, I assumed it was okay. Since, Jon, um, well, he came in that one time. And, um, I'd finished with his case. So, er, there was no conflict of interest or, or anything." Martin was breathless, as though an invisible force had squeezed his lungs, forcing the air to painfully push up and through his throat. 

Elias glanced down at a silver pocket watch, his glasses balanced perfectly from his nose, and never moving from that spot, as though even they were wary of upsetting him. 

"That is not what I wanted to talk about. Let me be clear, I have absolutely no interest in what my employees choose to do in their free time. Or whom they choose to do it with." 

Martin's ears burned, and this throat was prickly and dry. 

Elias continued. "I also understand there was an incident at the library where Jonathan works." 

Martin felt the blissful relief of not being in trouble juxtaposed with squirming worry for his boyfriend, that burrowed deep into his stomach, wriggling and writhing uncomfortably. 

"Yes, there, um, a woman went missing. A Leitner, although the book was, er, gone by the time we got there." 

Elias nodded again, more to himself than to Martin. His grey eyes impassive. 

"Yes, well, quite a feat to be able to say you encountered a Leitner and survived. Jonathan must be very special indeed." 

Martin felt the words bubbling beneath the surface, ready to pour from his mouth in an embarrassing rush, when he froze. 

Elias' eyes held a glow that definitely hadn't been there before. A flame that glowed cool and calculated, that would wrap its icy tendrils around a subject, and pierce every crevice until it was utterly known. 

"Yes, um, yes." Martin unstuck his tongue from his mouth, never taking his eyes off Elias. He'd never been one to maintain eye contact, it always felt too intimate, like the person could see all the lies simmering beneath the surface, begging to be let out. But this time he felt the alternative would be much, much worse. 

Elias smiled coldly. "Well, I am afraid I cannot let valiant actions go unnoticed. It would seem Jonathan has survived two encounters now, which is nothing short of impressive." 

Martin hummed, desperately wishing the floor would spontaneously open and swallow him whole.

"Which is why I feel Mr Sims would be a perfect fit for our Institute. I would be thrilled if he agreed to come and work for me." 

Martin felt shock skitter icily over his skin, crawling up his arms and across his shoulders, settling cold and hard as concrete in his chest. 

"Oh, um, Jon?" 

Elias nodded, his expression completely neutral, utterly still and coolly observing Martin, who shuffled and fidgeted. 

"I, er, I'm not, um, sure? He, er, he's happy at the library, and, and, he's maybe not exactly qualified…?" Martin's hands tumbled over each other messily in his lap. 

Elias' voice was icy when he spoke, a dangerous fire brimming in his eyes. 

"Well, I dare say qualifications are not everything. Would you not agree, Martin?" 

Martin nodded so fast his neck ached. "Of, of course! Yes, er, yes. Not everything." 

Elias clapped his hands together gently, the sound echoing out like a firework, rippling against the stone walls and bare floor. 

"Brilliant. Well, how about this? You mention our little conversation to Jonathan, naturally the pay will be competitive and the benefits generous. And then I will meet with him myself when he agrees." 

Martin sat there dumbly, staring, tongue heavy and stubbornly refusing to move. He’d never felt smaller than in that moment, a child with no choice but to obey. 

A flick of annoyance tugged at Elias' mouth, his face perceptibly more closed off. 

"You are dismissed, Martin. Unless there is anything else?" He shuffled the papers on his desk, eyes cool and unseeing. 

"No, um, thanks." But Elias had long since stopped listening, glasses perched on his nose as he handed Martin an application for the Institute. 

Martin took it out of instinct rather than actually choosing to. His arm extending of its own accord, fingers autonomously closing around the smooth, creamy paper. The black letters blurring before his eyes. 

As soon as Martin walked into the corridor, a deep breath rattled in his throat. His lungs stretched out and up as he drank in the cool air. 

Elias made his skin prickle and snakes of discomfort wind around and around, until he thought he might suffocate. 

But out here his skin was once again smooth, the phantom squeezing on his lungs stilling instantly. 

Martin glanced down at the paper in his hands, it rustled gently in the non-existent breeze. And he realised his hand was shaking. Martin gripped his wrist to still it. 

At the top of the application, the name Mr Jonathan Sims was printed in neat black writing, and the personal information was already filled out. The only empty space was the box for the employee signature. 

Martin felt anger and confusion and rage burn in his chest, incinerating and scalding and desolating all his other emotions.

Before he could properly think about what he was doing, Martin tore the application apart with long ripping noises, hands working faster and faster, with rampant force, shredding and shredding until the parts of paper fluttered down to the floor like the first flurries of snow in winter. 

Martin's chest was heaving, pushing out and collapsing in, and out again achingly fast. He swallowed hard. 

Only then did he notice the tiny red marks on his hands, slicing through the skin in stinging lines, burning just as fierce as the anger thrumming through him. 

Martin took a deep breath. 

He didn't know what Elias was up to. He didn't know exactly what was going on with the institute. And he didn't know how their work connected to Smirk's fourteen. 

But Martin knew one thing. Jon would never be a part of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias finds a way to get the job application to Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Elias made me do it :(

Martin felt all the frustration of his day melt away as he stepped through the door to his apartment, running down his arms and chest and back, pooling on the floor beneath his feet. 

"Hi, love. How was your day?" Jon pressed a kiss to Martin's cheek, flushed and prickling from the cold outside. 

Martin fondly righted Jon's glasses, curling his fingers into the thick, knitted material of Jon's stolen jumper, and just taking a second to breathe. 

"Not too bad. A little stressful. Yours?" Jon clicked his tongue in sympathy, nosing into the junction of Martin's collarbone. 

"Not too bad." Jon echoed, detangling himself to pass Martin a warm cup of tea, which he took with a noise of delight. Jon frowned at the little cuts on Martin’s palm, but he didn’t ask. That could be discussed later. 

The receding evening light blanketed the kitchen in a soft warm glow, falling in muted glittering shards across the worn furniture. 

Martin noticed a sheet of creamy paper on the ancient wood of their kitchen table, and frowned. He could just make out the words at the very top, "The Magnus Institute". 

He walked over on numb legs, his heart protesting violently in his chest. Martin frowned, he’d ripped it up, he knew he had. There were still light cuts on his hands to prove it. But this, this was the same application. Not a copy, not a reproduction, but the same. 

Martin saw the black waves of ink on the curled corners, the way the ‘a’ had running ink, dark tendrils that reached out and squirmed down the page, the almost invisible lines of stark white where he’d torn the paper before, fracturing out like a spider web, curling their crooked and erratic lines. His heart felt like it had dropped from the tight grip of his ribs. A horrible thought crossed his mind and he wished he could reach into his brain and rip it out. It would never stop. The applications would keep coming until Jon agreed. Martin just knew. He couldn’t feel his legs. 

"Jon, um, what's, what's this?" Jon walked over, long fingers curled around his cup, and rested his head gently on Martin's shoulder. 

"Oh, I, ah, I thought that was you? It was on the floor under the letterbox when I got home. It's a job application with my name and details on." 

Martin swallowed thickly, that same rage flickering in his chest, ignited once again. 

Jon was looking at him now, eyebrows sunk into his forehead, eyes wide with worry. 

"It, um, it wasn't me. It was probably Elias, that slimy-" 

"Hey, hey." Jon said softly, reaching up to gentle cup Martin's cheek. 

The fire that had blazed so fast and bright in Martin's chest dimmed immediately, glowing low but not entirely dissipating. 

"Sorry, I, um, sorry." Jon smiled gently. "It's just been, been a day." 

Jon ran his hands over Martin's broad shoulders, messaging gently at the tense muscles, his fingers dancing lightly across the skin. 

Jon led Martin to the sofa and sat both of them down, sinking instantly into the soft pillows, the couch offering a warm and comforting embrace. 

Martin sighed, rubbing his forehead where little needle points of pain had started to jab insistently. 

Jon laced their fingers together, a small frown on his face. 

"Martin. I, ah, I was thinking. About the job application." He refused to meet Martin's gaze. "I thought I might take it." 

Martin looked up sharply, his head jerking as though he'd been slapped. 

"What?" His hand was limp in Jon's, his mouth slightly open. 

Jon shifted, glasses jostling on his nose. 

"I thought you liked your library job?" Martin's voice was harshly accusatory, too bright, and burning with unconstrained anger. Jon's eyes narrowed in response. 

He withdrew his cold hand. "I did, I do, but." Jon shrugged helplessly, hands held out in an empty gesture. "I've been getting disillusioned lately, my ideas are being shot down, and, well, there's only so much variety in library work. And after Olivia…" 

Martin's voice burst from his chest, electricity thrumming through his veins, hot and scorched as it curled and twisted and circled. 

"Then you know how dangerous it can be! Just, just last week you, you were telling me to be careful. After, after the worms. And now, what, you want in? You, you want to put yourself in danger, is that it? And, and, there’s something wrong with the Institute Jon, it’s, it’s not...right.”

Jon huffed quickly, his voice cold and distant. 

"So, it's fine for you to put yourself in danger? For you to get injured and hurt for the sake of statements? But I can't?" Jon wrapped his arms around himself, fixing his eyes anywhere but Martin. "Sorry for thinking us working together might be a good thing." 

Martin felt his anger extinguish itself at the soft tone in Jon's voice. He sighed, rubbing his forehead where it prickled and ached. 

"Jon." Martin reached out and hesitantly curled his fingers around Jon's. Jon looked up. "I'm sorry, okay? It's, er, it's been stressful lately. At work. And, um, I'm just a bit on edge really. I'm just worried about you, I don't want you to get hurt. And, and, I want you to understand what you’re getting into." 

Jon squeezed his hand, a small, tender smile tugging at his mouth. "I know. I don't want you hurt either.”

"But?" Martin prompted. 

"But I have this burning curiosity, Martin. Since Grifter's Bone, since the incident with the book. It's, it's like you said on our first date, I feel touched, different. And," Jon sighed, shrugging again. "And I can't keep pretending it didn't happen. Or that I'm the same." He looked into Martin’s eyes. “I know what I’m getting into.”

Martin nodded, tucking stray hairs shot through with grey behind Jon's ears, fingers brushing the plastic of his hearing aids. 

His voice was small. "I know." 

A beat of silence passed, not uncomfortable exactly, but words that wanted to be said hung between them, almost tangible in the air. 

"Besides, if we work together then I can protect you." Jon nudged Martin's arm, a beautiful smile blooming across his face, as vibrant and delicate as fresh flowers. 

Martin laughed softly, tenderness flooding warmth into his voice. "It would be nice to keep an eye on you." 

Jon made a high noise of indignance. "You make it sound as if I'm a disaster waiting to happen!" 

Martin smiled, pressing a kiss to Jon's forehead. "Only a little, love." 

Later on, as the sun slowly climbed down in the darkening sky, a deep inky blue washing through the tiny window, Jon and Martin were sat, shoulders brushing, at the table, the signed job application between them. 

Jon looked intensely at Martin. "You're sure this is okay? I'd rather we talked about it now, then to argue months down the line." 

Martin sighed, gently stroking the exposed skin of Jon's wrist where his jumper had gathered up. "I mean, it's, um, definitely not ideal. But, but I suppose I'd rather we did this together, than, er, than you running off to do it yourself." 

Jon smiled softly, his dark hair hallowed with ashy silver light that matched the greying strands. 

"Together sounds good to me." Jon squeezed his hand. "I love you." 

Martin pressed their noses together. "I love you too."


End file.
